


Killing with Kindness

by everybreathagift



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: Prompt: Ian stays in bed all day, Mickey cheers him up.  All the fluff.





	Killing with Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Ian stays in bed all day, Mickey cheers him up. All the fluff.

Mickey’s pretty sure he’s gonna be fucking fused to the floor. He’s only spent the last seventy eight hours here, basically.

Ian likes having his hair played with any time but especially when he’s low. It’s just easier for Mickey to reach the right spots when he’s down here. 

They’ve been through the fucking stages, just like last time and the time before that and the time after this one. Ian screaming for him to leave only to start crying and begging Mickey to come back. Refusing to eat and getting pissed when Mickey forces him anyway. Outright sobbing and asking Mickey stupid fucking questions about why he stays. 

As though Mickey would ever go anywhere. As though he would _want_ to fucking go anywhere. Stupid shit.

“Mick?” Ian rasps, barely opening his eyes. 

“Right here,” Mickey answers immediately, sliding up onto his knees to touch Ian’s cheek. 

“Can I-” Ian clears his throat, tries again. “Will you get me some water?”

“Already here, man. You feel like sittin’ up for me?” 

“Yeah.”

Mickey really fucking hopes his excitement doesn’t show on his face. First time in three goddamned days that Ian has agreed to moving at all, let alone actually moving from under the comforter to swing his legs off the bed. Hell, Mickey was having to practically carry him to the fucking bathroom. 

Mickey stands next to the bed, still carding his fingers through Ian’s hair as Ian drinks. “Not too fast,” Mickey says but Ian finishes the bottle anyway. 

“Time is it?” Ian asks, panting a little from drinking so quickly. 

“Like, fuckin’ ten in the morning, I think?”

“Fuck, Mick, what about work?” Ian questions, looking sad and distressed and Mickey feels like it’s really fucking hateful that the universe saw fit to give Ian the one problem that Mickey couldn’t fix with his fists. 

“Hey, no, it’s fine. Look, I already called, alright? Manny knows. He understands.”

Mickey wants to kiss him. Touch him. Wrap him up and protect him from anything and everything but he can’t smother him yet. Too much makes Ian feel panicky and uncomfortable when he’s like this. 

Ian stretches his back, twists his neck from side to side and Mickey’s upset that he didn’t think about moving him around more so he didn’t get fucking stiff.

He releases a heavy breath when Ian reaches out and tugs him forward until he’s standing between Ian’s legs. He presses his face to Mickey’s stomach and wraps his arms around Mickey’s waist. 

“You’re amazing, you know? Good for me. To me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey mumbles, bending down to kiss the top of Ian’s head. “Brace yourself because I’m about to fuckin’ ask how you’re feelin’.” 

“I’m… groggy as shit. How long?” 

“’Bout three days. Give or take a few hours.” 

“That’s two days shorter than last time, though.” Ian sighs. “When’s my appointment?” 

“I made it for Wednesday because I wasn’t sure… you know.” 

“I know,” Ian replies quietly, squeezing Mickey tighter. “I love you.”

Mickey’s not gonna cry or anything ridiculous like that but his chest tingles a little. “Love you.” 

Ian laughs a little and Christ, that’s so fucking nice to hear. “Did you really hand feed me cake last night or did I dream that?” 

Mickey’s trying really hard to give Ian space but it’s hard as fuck because Ian is holding him so tight and Mickey just wants to touch him everywhere. He kisses Ian’s hair again, cups his cheeks, slides his palms over Ian’s upper back. 

“I really fuckin’ hand fed you cake last night. Couldn’t get you to eat anything else,” Mickey explains, smiling down at Ian and hoping he doesn’t look as relieved as he feels. “You hungry now? Anything you want."

“Anything?”

“Fuck.”

“Yup,” Ian agrees, looking up at Mickey with an almost-so close-another few hours and it’ll be full blown-grin.

“The fuck is it with you and omelets? Like the one thing I hate makin’.”

“Because your face gets that adorable grumpy look when it doesn’t flip right.”

“Fuck off, adorable. Bacon or Ham?”

“Both?"

“Alright. But uh- you… you wanna come help me set up? Lotta fuckin’ ingredients, you know.”

When Ian nods against him and breathes a quiet but firm, “mhmm,” Mickey feels the knot between his shoulder blades loosen. Feels the last three days start to fade. Feels his fucking chest ease a bit. 

“So, I, uh… I bought those tickets. For that fuckin’… what is it? That dude or whatever.” Mickey mentions as they walk to the kitchen. Ian’s staying close and Mickey’s closing the distance even more in case Ian doesn’t have the strength that he thinks he does.

“I’m going to see Portugal. The Man?” Ian asks and he’s not beaming, not yet, a little bit longer, but he’s still smiling and that’s absolutely enough for Mickey.

“ _We’re_ going, but yeah.”

“You’re really gonna come with me?” He’s smiling wider now, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s as they lean against the stove. “No shit?”

“No shit. I’m really gonna go listen to your shitty music with your shitty hipster friends,” Mickey gripes. Well, he tries, but he’s breathing a little too quickly and blushing a little too bright for it to come across as anything other than fucking pleased.

Whatever. Ian’s standing in their kitchen, looking alive again, kissing him and almost _happy_. It’s so beyond fucking worth it. 

“God, I love you, Mick. Thank you for, just… thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me. Go sit. Got an omelet to make, don’t I?”


End file.
